


Talk dirty to me.

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sleep talking, Wet Dream, from multiple orgasms and onward it's consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's having wet dreams... about Zayn. It doesn't help that he's sleep talking, or that Zayn's encouraging it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking through Niall's wikia page and found out that he sleep talks and, like, who was I to refuse such a blatant invitation to write a fic about it?

It starts with a name.

Zayn’s name.

At four in the blood-shitting morning.

With the way his head’s pounding, Zayn can think of only six places to hide the body of the person who woke him up, but that’s enough. He strains to listen again but there’s nothing to tell him where the voice came from, only Harry’s long, slow snores, and a nose whistling slightly on each breath. It’s probably Liam’s.

Someone whimpers gently, a notch above the constant hum of the engine. It’s a deep but quiet sound, and Zayn’s first thought is that someone’s rubbing one out, which isn’t _unheard of_ , but usually he has the advantage of being very, very asleep during it.

Eventually his bladder decides for him that there’s not a chance of nuzzling down again and drifting off, not until he’s gone for a piss and a drink of water. Whoever’s causing the hassle is just going to have to put their wank on pause. Serves them right for waking him up.

There aren’t any unusual noises as he climbs out of the bunk – no grunts, no distinctive wet sounds, no rustling. It’s all fairly quiet when he comes back as well, until his foot touches the ladder and someone mutters something.

They’re babbling, he realises. Feather-like mumbles thread from their mouth, gruff with sleep as their dream tumbles on, unaware that it’s leaking out into the real world. Even though it pains Zayn to be away from the warmth of his own dreams, he lowers himself to the floor again.

Almost immediately he finds that it’s not Liam—who is, for the record, the one doing the nose-whistling—or Harry, and Louis is silent as ever. He crouches down by Niall’s bunk with the intention of shaking his shoulder a bit, but as soon as he pulls back the curtain, just a crack, Niall starts whispering again.

He hums a little, “Mm,” then, “ _Zehn_ ,” which is more than enough to get Zayn’s attention. With the bus a cool black and only the meek light from the loo tainting the darkness, he can’t make out a lot, just the ruddy pink that’s coloured Niall’s cheeks and chest, and the unmistakable swell of midnight wood in his briefs. They’ve got little four-leaf clovers on white – a gag gift from Harry.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Niall mumbles again, clearer but still mussed and thick. Zayn doesn’t know if it’s the lighting or his mind playing tricks, but he’s pretty sure that Niall’s cock twitches and fattens up even more.

Blood catching fire beneath his skin, Zayn gingerly closes the curtain and scampers up to his own bunk, willing himself to set fire to the memory.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn doesn’t bring it up, because what’s he going to say?

_“I heard you saying my name while you slept.”_

_“You had a dirty dream about me, didn’t you?”_

_“Was I any good?”_

Besides, he doesn’t see any point in embarrassing people unnecessarily, especially Niall – sweet, unguarded little Niall who trusts them all to the moon and back with no hesitation. That’d just be mean, putting him on the spot like that. If it was Louis, _maybe_ , but never Niall.

There are also a lot of things Zayn doesn’t need to know about his boys. He can appreciate the want for a bit of privacy, and really, it’s _his fault_ for looking, for not leaving it be, for not letting sleeping dogs lie and all that. He could’ve walked away. He _should’ve_ walked away.

Zayn washes his face with cold water and makes a deliberate effort to not think about it for the rest of the day.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

That tactic works well, since his life is bursting at the seams with ways to distract him from more pressing and fucked up matters. Between photoshoots and concerts, he doesn’t have time to consider what may or may not have been a wet dream about him—and _shit_ , he doesn’t even want to think about what he may or may not have done to Niall in said dream—until it happens again.

They’re sharing a room this time, which narrows down the search considerably for the source of the strange and messy mumblings. Even with his heartbeat throbbing monstrously in his ears he can hear it, hear his name between little incoherent half-words strung together shakily against the rhythm of city noise. There’s a party going on somewhere; he knows that it’s a party because it’s too loud for a club if the pulse of music boasting drinks and girls can be heard from all the way up here. He’s sure that Louis’ probably hassling Paul about it, eager to get the energy he somehow pulls out of his arse at the end of the day out of his system. Zayn sits and listens to it, praying that his mind will cast away from the tiny whimpers and sleepy moans.

Just as it starts to hush into regular breathing, the sleep-talking kicks up again, spurring into life with Zayn’s name.

“Yeah?”

Oh shit, oh fuck; Zayn nearly slaps himself on the forehead for that. He hadn’t meant to. It’s an automatic response, right?

Niall whimpers loudly to it.

“ _Zayn_ …” he repeats.

Eyes squeezed shut in a failing attempt to block it out—poor Niall may find himself sleeping all by himself for the rest of the tour if he keeps this up—Zayn squeezes tighter in his duvet, forehead pressed against the window. The yearning breathing that tugs more whispers from Niall’s throat, meek and groggy, _wanting_ , draw his gaze over to Niall. The covers lie half on the floor, half clinging to the edge of his bed. The nightlife pours in from the open curtains, providing little light in the large room, barely enough for a good view of more.

For reasons he can’t quite manage to conjure up at such an obscene hour in the morning, Zayn finds himself half-rolling, half-falling out of his own bed and onto the carpeted floor. At least it’s not wooden. He probably would’ve cried, then; cold surfaces and Zayn don’t agree even in the best occasions, and if he’s being honest, right now isn’t even close to the best.

He crouches down beside the other bed, palm gently easing away the hair from Niall’s eyes and forehead. Niall’s face smoothes, brows softening from where they’d been bunched together as Zayn rubs his fingers through his hair. The timid sigh Niall gives makes Zayn’s chest ache, but not enough to dull the rapid tapping of his heart against his ribs when Niall’s briefs give away the hint of a stiffy he has just from the touch, the sound of his voice too loud in the quiet.

“Niall, love,” he tries. “Wake up. You’re sleep-talking, mate.”

Niall’s jaw goes slack, lips cracking apart and sucking in a quick breath. His hips shift just slightly, shaft thickening quickly beneath the fabric. He groans before falling silent again, flush appearing both on Niall’s face and Zayn’s. He chances a low glance to the growing bulge pricking up in Niall’s pants. God, this isn’t even— it’s not even _close_ to the first time he’s seen any of his boys with a boner, let alone _Niall_ , who gets one basically every time he sees a pretty girl, and often forgets to lock his door.

It’s not the first time that Zayn’s considered sucking him off, either.

“Niall,” he whispers one last time before he swallows his shame and slowly lifts one of the boy’s eyelids every-so-lightly. Sure enough, his eyeball is moving around, which Zayn read somewhere meant that he’s pretty far gone. Zayn licks his lips and lowers his voice. “Are you having a dirty dream about me?”

He takes the tiny choked-off noise as a yes.

Zayn strokes the sides of Niall’s hair, where it’s blooming wisps of brown beneath blond, soft and sleep-greasy. “What am I doing?” he wonders aloud. “Am I blowing you, love? Sucking your brains out through your cock?”

 _Where the hell is this coming from?_ His mind is shrieking bloody murder but he shakes it off, if only because Niall’s chest is relaxing but his hips squirm every now and again.

“Best shag of your life, I bet. Fucking me into the mattress, trying not to come when really you’re so bloody desperate for it.” He licks his lips as he pets Niall’s hair back. “Or am I fucking you? Your little arse bouncing on my cock? Now _that_ ’d be a right sight, innit?”

He feels filthy, wrong, dirty talking to a boy who’s barely an adult, watching him get harder and harder in his sleep. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up and sees Zayn for the freak he’s being. Suddenly he’s very tired.

“Niall,” he sighs, ready to tumble into his own bed and try desperately to forget all of this. Then, quietly, low because he’s turned on and nearly a groan, “I really _would_ like to fuck you.”

For whatever reason, that’s what does it; Niall gasps loudly and his stomach clenches, wetness staining his underwear, white turning translucent against the fat, pink head of his cock. Zayn watches his intimate undoing from where he’s perched on the floor, not quite gaping but not even close to looking calm about it. He’s just watched Niall come. He watched Niall come because of _him_. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _bloody fuck_.

He’s definitely going to Hell for this.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn can hear Niall wanking in his bunk.

It’s quiet, but it’s there. Zayn’s been awake for about an hour and a half, drawing, and this is the third time that Niall’s pulled off since Liam shooed them into their bunks four hours ago. Zayn knows what he sounds like, now, how he whimpers as he comes, the shuddery breaths that follow. He also knows what words do it for Niall and what tone really drives him insane.

Every time they sleep in the same room it’s like Zayn can’t help himself, always finding a spot next to Niall’s bed, sometimes going as far as to spray himself with cologne just to see Niall’s cock harden at the mere scent of him. And he talks. He listens for the hitches in Niall’s breathing and figures out way, way more about what his best friend’s into than is normal.

Niall’s taken to showering before Zayn, scurrying into the bathroom after a night of trying to grind into his own underwear or the mattress since Zayn won’t touch him.

He just watches.

This, though, is strange. At first, Niall had taken his time with long, quiet strokes that couldn’t be heard; the only way Zayn knew he was even doing it was because of his heavy breathing. He’d barely waited ten minutes before going at it again with a wet, choppy rhythm. Now it’s like he’s just doing it for the orgasm, letting out a surprised _oh_ every so often and cutting off his lip-pursed whines in quick snaps on what Zayn can only imagine is Niall’s very tender, very sensitive cock.

Zayn’s lying if he says he isn’t hard from it, cock sticking up unrelentingly in his sweats. It’s bad enough that he’s getting off on his best mate’s wet dreams; he’s not going to come from it. Occasionally he’ll reach down for a squeeze, just for the tiniest ache of pressure before letting go, and it’s not nearly enough but it’ll have to do.

Eventually Niall shoots off again, gasping rougher than ever, before rolling out of bed and stumbling to the loo like he’s drunk. Zayn figures that it’s time for him to sleep so he puts away his drawing stuff, hauling the duvet over his body. The door opens and closes with a _snick_ and Zayn can’t _not_ pull back the curtain to see what Niall looks like, how it compares to when he’s sleeping.

His face is blotchy-red and his chest’s not a whole lot different, legs wobbly, and his stomach is wet from where he’s had to wash the jizz off.

“Y’alright?” Niall croaks.

Zayn nods, but it’s like the words tumble out on their own. “Heard you, though. Before. I don’t think anybody else did so you’re fine.”

He didn’t think that Niall could spare the blood but suddenly he’s gone an even darker shade that makes Zayn ache with how cruel he’s being.

“Sorry ’bout that. ’S just…” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “N’ver mind. G’night.”

“Night,” Zayn yawns, going to close his curtain.

Then there are pale fingers one Zayn’s mattress, Niall backtracking and face knotted up in distress.

“Actually, c’n I… Can we talk?”

If Zayn’s heart goes any quicker it’ll be static. “Sure,” he mumbles, climbing down the ladder (carefully adjusting his dick when Niall’s not looking). Niall leads him to the main room and collapses on the chair. Zayn doesn’t blame him, imagining that three orgasms in about half an hour would really take the kick out of someone. He lowers himself a little more gracefully into the spot beside Niall, trying to look as innocent as possible when really he’s anything but. “What d’you want to talk about?”

“It’s really embarrassing,” Niall sighs thickly.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Zayn says.

Niall goes quiet for so long that Zayn wonders if he’s fallen asleep with his eyes open. The curtains and doors in the bus are all pulled shut, leaving them in a dim room with only the glow of the guide lights to let in hints of each other’s faces.

“I’ve been having wet dreams,” he finally admits, looking away. “Not just dirty dreams, like… I’m creaming my boxers in my sleep.” He swallows and sounds like he’s going to cry, dear God, so Zayn loops his arm around Niall’s defeated body and tugs him in closely. “I’ve been wanking like mad to stop but it keeps happening.”

Poor Niall is quivering as he talks, voice gravelly and scratched up, threading guilt into Zayn’s bones as he fights the urge to be sick. He’d never thought… He hadn’t _noticed_ how humiliating it’d been, and he’s supposed to be the observant one, the one who takes care of his boys.

The worst part is that his cock twitches for it.

“What do you dream about?” he asks.

Niall stiffens. “What?”

Zayn gulps down his shame for the time being. “Maybe it’s your subconscious, like, telling you that you want something that you’re not giving yourself, yeah?” Niall’s face flushes crimson. “Maybe you should listen to it.”

Again, Niall squirms, shrugging out of Zayn’s hold. He scrubs a hand through his hair with a heavy, daunting sigh that deflates his chest, body going slack and heavy like his bones are too weak to hold his own weight.

“You can’t tell anyone, not even the others,” he mumbles.

“Niall—”

“I’m serious,” Niall pleads. “Nobody can know.”

Keeping a secret is difficult when they spend all of their time together, but Zayn’s willing to do it, just for Niall, just this once. His heart swells and presses against the barrier of his ribs. “Alright, I promise.”

Niall gives a retched, breathless sob, and says, “Sometimes… I dream about lads. I dream about…” As he speaks, he buries into the quiet, voice dipping lowly. “Fuck, I dream about getting shagged and, like, sucking someone off, getting my arse licked, but…” He pauses and hauls air into his lungs. “I can’t do it, Zayn. I’m not gay.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Zayn assures him, leaning in to the press of their shoulders.

“But I _do_ want to. I think about it all the fucking time,” he chokes out.

“Ssh, come on, it’s alright,” Zayn whispers, pressing slow, soft kisses to the side of his face. He keeps his lips resting against Niall’s temple as the boy cries quietly into his palms, skin dangerously hot, room stuffy. Zayn snuggles up into Niall’s side and flicks the AC on a bit to get some air.

He pushes aside the thought that all of this is most definitely his fault.

When Niall’s calmed down, tuckering himself out fairly quickly, they sit there in just the quiet. Harry’s books are spread out on the coffee table; two Jamie Olivers, a Gordon Ramsay, and a Nigella Lawson. He’s trying to teach Louis how to cook again, it seems. Niall stands, sniffs, and grabs a Mars Bar from the fridge.

“Would you like me to open a window?”

Niall swallows and blows his nose. “Yeah. Thanks.” He wolfs down the chocolate and offers Zayn one, but Zayn shakes his head.

He unlatches one window at the end of the bus and pushes the frame as far as it’ll go before the metal arm clicks into place. His bones are drained with fatigue and his eyes probably show it, like the silky wet of Niall’s do, projecting all of his feelings because he’s never once guarded them like Zayn does. Smiling gently, Zayn thumbs away the smudges lining Niall’s splotched-red cheeks and plucks a few tissues from the box.

“Handsome again,” Zayn murmurs, dabbing at the wet, pressing his cool hands against Niall’s hot face.

Niall opens his eyes. “I dream about you, sometimes,” he says softly. “I thought that you should know. Honesty’s the best policy and all.”

Zayn doesn’t say a thing; his mouth doesn’t even twitch though he finds himself dipping down, down till his lips brush carefully against Niall’s and Niall’s mouth slots open. Niall sighs through his nose at the contact, movements slow but not lazy as he kisses back like he’s been wanting this for so long that he’s drunk with it, drunk on Zayn. Fuck, and he makes these whimpering sounds, smothered little squeaks that slope into pitched breaths as Zayn licks his throat. Niall’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“I dream about you every time,” he admits, voice rumbling and warm. “Christ, Zayn, I— I can’t stop thinking about it. Please let me.”

The sweet, hot pressure against his cock makes it hard to think, hard to— The boys are right down the fucking hallway, a curtain and a door away from walking in and catching them, catching Zayn about to get off. He’s so fucking ready for it, though, surprised by how quickly the weeks of watching is flooding him warm and he’s ready, he wants this. Niall squeezes at the head, pressed against Zayn’s thigh, and licks eagerly into Zayn’s mouth.

“Fuck, just leh’me suck you off,” Niall pleads again, sliding his hand up so that the fat poke of Zayn’s cock is framed by his fingers, making it stand obscenely under the fabric. “Let me try it.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn gasps. His answer comes as his legs opening and Niall gets the hint, yanking Zayn’s top up to his collarbone and tasting his way down Zayn’s neck, his chest, his taut stomach, as he lowers himself to the floor and hooks a hand in the waist of Zayn’s joggers. Every night he’d spent whispering this sort of scenario into Niall’s ear is unraveling so bloody easily, Niall nosing into his briefs and breathing in. He has to say something, has to prove that this is more than fantasies.

Niall fits snugly between his thighs and licks his lips.

“You’re g’nna do it, then? Just like that?” Zayn asks. He’s gone throaty and slow like he does when he’s turned on, and he sees the subconscious flicker of recognition in Niall’s eyes. “My cock in your mouth while your little red cheeks hollow around it? Are you going to swallow?”

He’s going hot at the thought, thickening from semi to fully erect just seconds before Niall rasps, “Yes, God, yes,” and curls his fist around Zayn’s shaft.

Niall’s good, the way he gets everything slick so the drag of Zayn’s foreskin is gentle but leaves friction, and though he could do with going a bit tighter, Zayn moans approvingly and sinks back into the sofa. Niall looks positively captivated and Zayn wants to smirk and say, “It’s just a cock, mate,” but he doesn’t. This isn’t about him.

Because Niall’s wanted this; Zayn _witnessed_ him wanting it, rutting his neat little hips against the bed even after he’d come, soaking his own creamy mess into the mattress with his lazy grinds as Zayn murmured, “You’d love to swallow it, yeah? The press of my dick on your tongue, the weight as I get harder just looking at your sweet, innocent face with your mouth stretched around a cock.”

He repeats it word-for-word into the hushed silence paced with the slip-slide of Niall jerking him off, and Niall traps his whine hot and damp into Zayn’s inner thigh, fingertips digging against the meatier flesh.

When Niall finally looks up, Zayn is shocked by the complete lack of shame, like it’d all poured out in kisses, only to have him filled up with trust in his big, wide eyes. He still looks scared, just not in the way he had before; where fear of judgment had stiffened his body to the likeness of steel cables, now he’s got the giddy nerves of trying something new.

It’s shockingly intimate for a blow job, and Zayn finds himself petting Niall, hand freezing in his hair as Niall brings his lips down and rubs the tip against them, wetting his mouth before he opens around it.

Zayn bites down on another moan, bottom lip pinched between his teeth and released slowly as Niall tests the waters, sees how far he can go, one hand at the base of Zayn’s cock and the other…

He can’t come again, Zayn thinks, after going three rounds with his own hand.

“All that jerking off and you’re still not done, you horny thing,” he breathes.

Backing his head out of Zayn’s lap, Niall leans his forehead against Zayn’s knee and coughs.

“I don’t know if I’ll come again,” he whimpers. “’M really sensitive.” Then, before Zayn can retort, he glances up to Zayn’s cock and starts sucking again like he can’t bear to be away for too long, like he needs to taste his skin and his come or he’ll die. He keeps a tight grasp on his own dick, which pokes out of his pants all flushed raw, choking when he dares to shift.

Niall’s no expert at giving head—or, Zayn considers, he _might_ be, but certainly not with dick—and yet Zayn feels every stroke and minute he’s been aching for this curl wildly in his stomach and collapse in, triggering a near-perfect orgasm that crests so gently before the pooling burn of coming bursts.

Even though he’s pretty sure he’d been fairly quiet, especially considering the circumstances, Zayn struggles to stay lucid enough to listen for anybody waking up. When there’s no change from the rumble of the bus, he falls back, panting shamelessly as Niall smacks his lips, looking comically concentrated on tattooing the taste of come onto his tongue.

“You’re beautiful, Zayn,” Niall says in a small voice.

Niall gives up on himself, pushing his dick into his briefs, the head propping up the waistband. His forehead rests against his forearm for a while until he makes a shaky attempt to stand, blowing a thick sigh through his lips.

He doesn’t even say anything as he turns around and goes back to his bunk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been eight months, but here's the second chapter! Thanks of course to my betas, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/) and [nekedniall](http://nekedniall.tumblr.com/)!

They don’t get to visit a hotel room overnight for a few weeks, and Niall opts to go with Liam the second they enter the lobby when they do. Liam gives an oblivious shrug, handing Niall the spare key.

Niall’s not been good, lately, all shaky and jumpy and even his _breathing_ is different, coming in sharp bursts like he always needs his inhaler. It’s too much stress to be trapped in a body, especially one so _small_. Zayn is amazed that he hasn’t just popped with it.

“I’m g’nna go to bed, lads,” Niall mumbles as he slides out of his seat, a yawn ripping the seam of his frown.

“Aw, you sick?” Harry pouts. They were supposed to play Fifa till the wee hours.

“Yeah. Not feeling well.” Giving an apologetic rub to Harry’s hair, Niall stands, slipping his phone into his jogger-bums’ pocket.

It’s all a bit dodgy from there; wary eyes follow him as Zayn takes Liam aside and _begs_ to switch rooms, promising that he’s just going to try and relax Niall.

“How’s what you’re going to do any better than what we’ve tried?” Louis asks loudly, indignant.

“Because I’ll suck his cock if it comes to it, Lou,” he bites back. It tilts just slightly into kidding, enough so to satisfy Louis, anyway, who turns back to his Nintendo with a crude mimic of Zayn’s voice.

“Alright, then. What about my bags?” Liam relents, trading in his card key for Zayn’s.

“I’ll have one of the trolley guys switch them,” Zayn promises, patting Liam’s thigh. “’S g’nna be okay, Liam. I’ll fix it.”

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall takes an especially long shower, allowing an obscene amount of leeway for Zayn to take care of the tiny details. He starts with the cushions, flinging the extras to the floor, turns his phone on silent, switches into a new, easier-to-remove (a bit presumptuous, but whatever, considering the _last_ time…) shirt, and fishes his lube and a condom out of his bag and into the bedside drawer. He deserves a pat on the back, really.

He’s fucking about with his iPod—he has a snog playlist _somewhere_ , he’s _sure_ —when the shower turns off, just as he scrolls through and taps it. Niall’s hair is splayed this way and that, like a drawing where someone’s smudged the charcoal by mistake. His whole body locks up, frigid, as his gaze flickers to Zayn not three feet from the bathroom door, leaning against the cupboards that house the speakers.

Sometimes, it’s like Zayn magically forgets how intense these _feelings_ are until Niall’s in front of him, loving life and grinning and laughing. He’s doing none of those things now, and the guilt is enough to make Zayn want to look away.

“I’m rooming with Liam,” Niall mumbles, shoulders slumping in like he’s trying to swallow himself, create a black hole right there in _Four Seasons_.

“I switched,” Zayn says.

“Switch back,” Niall says bluntly, and his eyes widen for a second. “I’m sorry, that was mean.”

If Niall’s breath stammers when Zayn cards his fingers through his hair, Zayn doesn’t see a reason to mention it. He squeezes a fair few drops of water on the carpet before Niall pulls away, grabbing another towel from atop his pillow to rub the extra wet out.

“How’ve you been sleeping?” Zayn asks, sitting on the bed. He leaves his thighs parted and Niall—sweet, readable Niall—probably slaps himself internally for letting his eyes drag to Zayn’s crotch, just for a second and then he’s back to the duvet.

“Not well.”

 _At least he’s not trying to lie_ , Zayn thinks, frowning.

Niall strings a pair of briefs from his suitcase, pausing like he’s afraid to get changed in front of Zayn, like he’s afraid of what’s changed between them. Zayn proves that at least _one_ thing has, by standing up and circling his arms around Niall’s waist, kissing the back of his neck.

“D’you want this? Would this help?” he asks lowly. Niall doesn’t move, then all of a sudden just fucking _sags_ against Zayn, head tilting to give him room.

“Yeah,” he admits, almost a whine.

As Niall drops his towel and spins around for a kiss, Zayn has to restrain from _actually_ patting himself on the back for a job well done. Niall moves quicker than he has in _days_ , with none of the sluggish grind that’d weighed him down since their last encounter.

“You want this,” Zayn says as Niall ducks down to untie Zayn’s shoes.

“I _need_ it,” Niall replies immediately. The rush stops. Niall goes a shocking shade of pink.

Zayn looks at him meaningfully, wondering if he knows what he’s saying.

“I need you,” Niall says.

“That’s okay,” Zayn nods. His grip on Niall’s back gets firmer, aware of the imbalance in nakedness. Niall doesn’t care too much if his moans are anything to go by – he’s as loud of a kisser as he is anything else. Zayn hadn’t expected it to be any other way.

“Wanna suck you off again,” Niall presses into Zayn’s lips. His muscles are hot from the shower, but they give under Zayn’s grabby hands, still mostly soft despite their fitness regime.

“I’ve got other plans,” Zayn answers, hand going tight in Niall’s hair and separating them a bit but not—not much, not more than he needs to speak, not enough for Niall to inch up and kiss him again. “I remember what you told me. I remember _all_ of it,” Zayn murmurs. “Get on the bed, and I’ll let you suck my cock for a bit, then I’ll lick you out.”

Niall barely hesitates but the pause is still _there_ , and then he’s stark naked on the sheets, skin flushed pink against white. He looks like a fucking angel. In his leather and black, tattoos exposed where his sleeves are folded at the elbows, Zayn feels anything but.

“You could at least _act_ like you’re not gagging for it,” Zayn says. He eyes Niall’s dick where it’s getting fat on his hip. Zayn sheds his jacket and jeans while Niall smiles hesitantly. “You’re g’nna let me fuck your mouth? God, you must really want my tongue in your arse.”

Niall purses his lips as his cock fills up, foreskin stretching back.

“You should see your body like this, how _desperate_ you look, dirty boy,” Zayn whispers, edging over and sliding his hand under for a rough handful of Niall’s bum. Niall bites his lip. “Wouldn’t you love a cock in here?”

“I want to try it,” Niall admits, looking mortified as he speaks.

“I bet you would. You’d look so, so pretty on mine,” Zayn smirks. Eyes narrowing slyly, he pinches Niall’s flushed-hot cheek, and lets go to pat it as though he can calm the colour. It’s like Zayn’s flicked a lightswitch that makes Niall glow from the inside-out with a new charge, one that has him darting up for a kiss before he retreats, eyes big and cautious.

One edge at the line of Zayn’s mouth crooks up, and Niall smiles back, bright like the moon itself has tipped onto its side and found a new home right there on his face.

“You’ll get your dick out for me but you’re shy about kissing?” Zayn says.

But he knows the difference, the gap between fucking a stranger and fucking a mate, how it’s more appealing in the craziest way to fall into something unknown rather than to play Russian roulette with friendships.

“I’ve seen you kiss birds dirtier than that,” he goes on, petting Niall’s cock with the lightest of touches. “C’mon, then.”

Niall surges up, working his tongue in between Zayn’s lips as his shaft rubs up against Zayn’s leg. Zayn stills him with a stern hand pinched tightly against his hip.

“You’re not a dog. You’re not going to hump my leg.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Niall mumbles into his neck. He starts to get Zayn’s button undone and Zayn lets him, allows Niall to have his way for the moment. It’s absolutely insane how easily Niall takes to a cock, mouthing down and running his tongue up again, hunched forward with Zayn upright. He’s warm and messy, spit clinging to his fingers and making the dirtiest sounds when Niall backs off for a breather. There are so many slurps and moans that Zayn loses count, his hand clutching Niall’s where he’s latched onto his thigh to get a feel for the shallow thrusts. Everything about this is absolutely fucking mental, right down to how Niall’s head falls back with his mouth slack and open, chin wet, red washed from his temples to his chest.

“Beautiful,” Zayn smirks, slipping his fingers over Niall’s jaw. He takes off his tee shirt, stands to shuck off his briefs, too.

Niall seems to have lost it well before Zayn’s dick ended up in his mouth, but that doesn’t lessen his panting and squirming as he’s necked, and definitely not when Zayn— It’s not even kissing, not with how he’s using his teeth and his tongue to draw a spitty trail down to Niall’s cock, sucking it into his mouth without a second thought.

Nights spent on the bus with drinks and five horny lads all eager to share has told Zayn that Niall _loves_ blow jobs. His praise near-endless of ones he’s received, his attention unwavering from the others’ stories. His thighs are shaking right now and Zayn has barely started.

“Shit, oh shit,” Niall pushes through his teeth. “Please go fucking lower, Zayn.”

Zayn lets Niall’s dick fall heavy against his stomach. “Are you always like this? So demanding? Like, do you do this with everyone?”

“Just you, I promise,” Niall says softly, breathing unsteadily.

“You sure?” Zayn goes on, teasing, stroking Niall’s taint thoughtfully. “How bloody long’s it been since you’ve had someone? Or has it just been me? Just me when you were begging to blow me in the bus,” he wonders aloud. “I’ve seen how dirty you can get. Have you cleaned up?”

Niall nods jerkily, stuck between rubbing his arse into the mattress to narrow attention onto his cock, and showing off his hole. Poor thing.

“Good. Let’s get you all nice and wet.”

Zayn’s done this before, like, between the blow job and the fucking, he just likes to have a lick. Nobody’s ever rimmed him—it’s not really his thing—but he knows what feels good, knows how to make Niall choke on his own voice. He turns Niall over, watching in delight as Niall angles his bum up, the exaggerated curve of it so enticing that he can’t resist running his hands over it again and again between squeezes. One gentle kiss against the edge of Niall’s rim makes gasp; the long lick that follows has him tensing up.

“Easy,” Zayn murmurs, rubbing Niall’s lower back. His tongue swipes over Niall’s hole again, going between slow, fast, short, and long laps till Niall melts into the mattress, collecting his whimpers in his pillow. Zayn has one finger all the way in when Niall starts humping his duvet. “Wonderful, Niall. You’re stunning.” Niall moves faster, Zayn tracking two fingers through his spit and rubbing Niall’s taint with them. “Lovely when you make those sounds. Can you take your face off the pillow, Niall?”

Like that, they’re untamable moans and whines, back muscles flexing as he ruts towards a messy orgasm on the hotel sheets. Zayn wipes his chin on his wrist and abuses Niall’s prostate, his own cock sitting hard under his stomach.

“Could you fuck me, Zayn? Could we—” Niall gasps and rides out the firm press of Zayn’s fingertip before he can regather his thoughts. “Could you do that? I’ve got condoms somewhere, and lube—”

“Not now,” Zayn murmurs, lifting his face to get a good look at the lad he’s well and truly wrecked with little more than a multitalented tongue.

Niall just nods. That would be too much, too big and daunting. It’s one thing to make him sweat and come while he’s asleep, another to get head, and maybe even this is one step over the cliff’s edge. Zayn dares not lift his other foot. He can’t be Niall’s first, not when Niall doesn’t know the depth of all this fucking shit going on in Zayn’s chest. Right then and there, watching Niall shift and pant and squirm, working Niall’s prostate over and over, Zayn decides that he has to tell him everything. After this. After Niall comes, Zayn won’t let either of them run away like last time, because he’s going to do what he can to make this as right as possible.

“I would. Jesus, Niall, you don’t even know how much I wanna see your cheeks bouncing off my hips, watch you come on my dick. Just like this, you spread out, gagging for it, looking good enough for me to eat.” He blankets his body over Niall’s, making sure Niall can feel his cock full and heavy on his arse. “You did this. _You_. You’re absolutely fucking beautiful.”

Niall twists his head and arches his back and snogs Zayn, low groan turning into something far more dirty and obscene as he comes, looking up helplessly at Zayn like he doesn’t know if he was supposed to.

“Good,” Zayn coos. “That was really nice.”

Relieved, Niall drops to his pillow, heaving in shaky breaths and face strawberry red. Zayn moves upright and wanks himself off, head lolling back in relief, going from mostly hard to sticky and ready so quickly he’s caught off-guard. He squeezes and massages the soft flesh of Niall’s bum, getting greedy as he starts jerking forward, coming just as Niall peers over his shoulder to watch.

Smirking, Zayn smears the come on Niall’s hole, warm and wet against the sensitive tip of his cock. Niall lies there with a lazy smile on his lips, a hand through his scruffy hair, and a breathy laugh.

“There’s no way we’re sleeping on this bed,” he mumbles.

“No? I think it’d be hilarious to see you stuck here,” Zayn grins.

“Nooo,” Niall moans, pulling away from the bed as though just to prove that he can, holding still as Zayn wipes him clean.

They fall into the other bed without breaking touch – Zayn’s arms around Niall’s waist, hands slipping into each other’s, and then they’re under the covers with Niall on top of Zayn, his big eyes and bigger heart right out there in the open.

“I still dream about you,” Niall says.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, voice equally soft. “Good.”

“Sometimes, it’s not just… mucking around.” Niall lies down beside him, every word out of his lips a post-sex hum that barely reaches above a whisper. “Sometimes it’s you kissing me onstage, or we have a house together. It was never just sex for me.”

Niall’s mouth cracks open when an unwelcome quiet follows his confession, suddenly scared, and Zayn— kisses it off of him, slides his hand over Niall’s jaw and holds him steady, careful but firm.

“So that’s mad, then?” Niall manages to wedge in between their mouths.

“It’s fucking mental,” Zayn agrees. “Let’s fucking do it. I’ll dirty-talk you through the whole thing.”

“Promise? I wanna hear more about, what was it, my arse on your hips,” Niall asks, giving no protest as Zayn hauls him on top.

“I think it was, like, cheeks on my hips,” he amends. “Either way you’ll hear all about it, you filthy minx.”

“Sick,” Niall grins, settling easily into Zayn’s cuddles.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

In the morning, Zayn waits for Niall to wake up, stroking his hair the whole time even though he has to switch hands when one gets sore. Zayn doesn’t talk about how much he wants to suck his cock. He talks about being boyfriends, being in love, long walks across the beach, burgers at the place five minutes from Niall’s. A house together. A dog. A swimming pool where Niall can teach Zayn how not to drown. A kitchen with a pizza oven. He says, “ _I’ll love you,_ ” and, “ _Let’s do it,_ ” until his heart’s going too fast and he’s run out of breath.

He has to come clean.

“You’re awake before me? Jesus,” Niall slurs as he comes to. “What’s up?”

“I have something to tell you, like,” Zayn murmurs into Niall’s neck.

“Mm, make it quick, then. There’s a party in my pants and you’re invited,” Niall says.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Zayn points out.

“Then you’re halfway there, Zaynie,” Niall smirks.

“This is, like, serious. It’s not good.” When Niall looks at him, it’s like Zayn’s wedging his finger into a stab wound, twisting it.

Niall sits up and licks his lips, covers slumping to his stomach, jaw going stiff and then loosening. “Is it… too mental? Have you changed your mind? It’s okay if you have. It was pretty—”

“No, Niall, shh,” Zayn says softly, pushing his mouth up against Niall’s. “No, of course not. It’s about the dreams you were having. The dirty ones.” He’s preparing himself for the death of something that could have been so amazing, for the anger so rare on Niall to flare up at his confession, yet the _need_ that pushes for honesty doesn’t give for any of that.

“I know that you were talking to me,” Niall says after a weight of silence.

Zayn blinks. He moves back. “What? Like, how?”

“Come on, Zayn,” Niall smiles softly. “The shit you were saying last night, and that time on the bus? _Exactly_ what you said in my dreams. That’s not a coincidence, and I’m not dumb.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn starts, but Niall’s shaking his head.

“It turned out alright, didn’t it? Besides, maybe we can fix a little deal, you know, to settle scores,” Niall says slyly. “One round of oral for every time you made me come. Front or back, I’m not picky.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn snorts, forehead falling to the soft muscle of Niall’s shoulder.

“Sound fair?” Niall hedges, angling in for Zayn’s lips.

“Sounds fair,” Zayn agrees, and decides to get started immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


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